Living Will
by Marigold-Scented-Candle
Summary: She lived for the blessed hours spent with him, and died thinking only of him. Such was her living will MarcoXMeene Marco Meene


_This was done as a request for LugiaP2K who writes the loveliest Marco X Meene fics I've ever read. Much better then what I've written here in my opinion. Check her out here _

_http:/lugiap2k(dot)deviantart(dot)com/__ Just replace the (dot) s with real periods!_

_This is also my first non-crossover story… How strange. _

_I hope you enjoy it!_

Disclaimer: I don't own Shaman King or Naruto

Their relationship had never exactly worked, most certainly not in a traditional sense anyways. Marco was devoted, obsessively so to a twelve year old girl with red eyes and silver hair. He was so much devoted to that child that raising her, bettering her, took up ninety nine percent of his life. He based an organization around her words and desires, and viewed her as nothing less then a goddess come to earth.

Meene knew she did not compare. Her appearance was nothing exotic, especially not when put beside The Iron Maiden Jeanne. When put up against her silver hair, her dirty-blonde hair was plain and boring, and against Jeanne's eyes of crimson her greening-blue eyes were suffocating common.

It wasn't the Menne had any ill will towards Jeanne, because after all, who could feel ill will towards such a child. Menne didn't blame Marco for practically worshipping her. She was a charismatic figure no doubt, and she had the ideals of an angel, and the strength of a god. She knew that little girl was more then she'd ever be, and she was content to take up a portion of the one percent of Marco's life that wasn't taken by her.

It was sad really. Marco took up most of Meene's life, and Meene took so little of his. There was but one percent of his life that wasn't dedicated to his Iron Maiden and to the X-laws. There were some blessed hours that he wasn't with Jeanne, that everything had been taken care of, and this was when he made Meene feel like the most loved person in the world. Despite how little time they had to talk he knew exactly what she liked, if it were color, music, food, animal, or anything really.

He knew how to make her smile, and the music to play ever so softly in the background when he helped her cook. He knew exactly what part of her waist to hold when they danced and he knew how to make her knees weak when they kissed. Causing the sort of euphoria that Meene told her self was love. For Meene it was a couple of hours in heaven traded for weeks in hell. Weeks of him not even sparing a glance in her direction, weeks of watching, waiting in agony for the next time he would look her way, waiting for that bliss to once again rule her world, and keep her sane.

It wasn't often that Meene gave into temptation. Besides being a devout catholic like Marco, she was a former member of the military, and as a result very disciplined. But she gave into but two temptations. The first and chief temptation was Marco. If she had any sort of regard for her heart, she would have given up on her and Marco's on and off relationship a long time ago, but the temptation that stemmed from those beautiful heavenly hours was far too much for her, so she never denied him anything.

The other temptation was Lyserg. Though Meene was a military woman, she was really rather motherly, and the melancholy manner of the young dowser pulled at her worn out heartstrings. Even when she was in those terrible periods when the afterglow of spending time with Marco had long since ceased, and he hadn't looked at her in more then a week, somehow Lyserg still managed to make her smile just as Marco did.

Meene really hadn't meant to grow close with anyone but Marco, but child like Lyserg Diethel, who just as beautiful as any man that Meene that ever seen was hard to resist. Around her his emerald eyes sparkled with something undefined, and his cheerful guardian spirit flitted around, spreading a pretty flower-scent all around them. Meene didn't really much like the smell of flowers. The scent she truly loved was that of smoke. Smoke and chocolate. Marco's scent. But when Meene began to associate the scent of poppies and the sharp metal-crystal that came from his body when Morphine decided to take a nap with Lyserg and his pretty little smile and his life saving little brother brand of affection she decided that perhaps the scent of flowers wasn't so unpleasant, the sharp undemanding scent of crystal was a nice change from the thick consuming scents of chocolate and smoke.

It wasn't so much that she forced herself to spend time with Lyserg, or hug him; it was that she loved Marco more. Lyserg was someone she wanted to love with all her heart, but Marco had already staked his claims, so Lyserg always got the short end. Making a smile was something that took a good hour with Lyserg, but took Marco a good fifteen seconds. There wasn't really much of a competition between the two. Lyserg was a little brother, he was a child. Someone to hug, someone that looked up to her. Him and Marco were not equals in Meene's heart and never would be.

Marco was the one who she died loving. As the ice pierced through her heart, as she explained the importance of kindness, she could only think of the moments that her and Marco had shared with one another. The smells of chocolate and smoke that she breathed in deep when they slept together, late at night when he had finally let his guard down. The quiet feel of his hands on her shoulders, showing her the way to control Gabriel, helping her cut up vegetables for dinner, guiding her towards justice, and towards their ultimate goal. She could feel his lips, his body against hers; feel that ultimate sort of happiness as if all their moments had been consolidated into one electric charge.

It seemed to Meene that even death wasn't all bad, as long as she could look upon Marco without caring if anyone noticed. To gaze at him with all the love in her being as she was suspended in the air like a real angel should be. It was all her lovesick heart could have asked for in her last moment.


End file.
